


But I love the way your heart had no rules

by phalangine



Category: Constantine (TV)
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Post-Canon, Sort Of, it's not my fic unless there's a reference to how big chas/charles is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 18:04:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15078677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phalangine/pseuds/phalangine
Summary: “You're better now?” John asks. It’s a pointless question, and he regrets asking as soon as it's slipped out.





	But I love the way your heart had no rules

**Author's Note:**

> this is a self-indulgent mess, but i love and miss them, so i'm allowed to post it
> 
> the title is from "get low" by james vincent mcmorrow

John finds Chas in the lav, submerged in the giant claw foot tub. The room is filled with steam, and Chas’ skin is flushed pink from the heat. He’s got his eyes closed and his head tilted back, the very picture of a man enjoying a long overdue soak.

If John hadn’t seen him earlier, he’d think that was all this is. Just Chas taking a moment for himself. Relaxing during a rare stretch of calm. Indulging in a nice bubble bath.

(He hides it well, but he’s got a touch of the hedonist in him, has Chas.)

Eyes raking over the visible portion of Chas’ bare torso, John tries to reconcile the smooth, unblemished skin with the bloody mess the day’s demon made of it earlier. He can still hear Chas shouting, keeping the creature busy and away from John and Zed. He can still feel the rope around his wrists, binding him in place, forcing him to watch, useless, as the demon overpowered Chas and Chas struggled and howled and bled until Zed finished the exorcism. He can still feel the blood on his hands as he tried to put Chas’ pieces back together, not knowing if he could or should but feeling in the pit of his stomach that he couldn’t leave Chas like he was.

Chas is a big bloke. It stands to reason there would be a lot of blood in him. John just hadn’t thought he’d ever see so much of it.

That’s why he’s awake at three o’clock in the morning and poking around the mill house in search of Chas, knowing logically that Chas is fine but unable to stop the nightmares. He’s not about to say so, though. John knows why he sought Chas out, and Chas knows why, and that’s enough.

John stops a few steps away from the tub. He wants to keep walking, but he can’t make himself.

He’s allowed to be here. Chas would have told John to go if he weren’t welcome. Or he would have locked the door.

All Chas has done is sit in a hot bath and make John remember Ancient Greece.

Chas is no Prometheus, bringing fire to a cold and wretched world, but he was John’s first friend, and maybe that’s transgression enough.

“I’m fine, you know,” Chas says unprompted, his voice a low rumble. He doesn’t open his eyes. 

“You do seem to be having a good time,” John replies. The words scrape on the way out, as if even his body knows he’s bullshitting.

“There are worse deaths.”

“Is that supposed to comfort me?” John asks sharply, his hands balling into fists. “All those deaths are my doing.”

For a long moment, nothing happens. 

Then Chas opens his eyes. 

John’s always liked Chas’ eyes. He’s always liked Chas in general, really, but there’s something about Chas’ eyes that feels like Chas is seeing through him, looking past John’s fronts and misdirections, stripping him bare until Chas is seeing John for what he is.

If Chas knows what John is, then he must have decided that’s something worth following, because here he is, having a bath in a house in Georgia, miles and miles away from the daughter he loves and the ex-wife he also loves, with nothing but his divorce papers, John, Zed, and the bloodiest creatures hell can vomit out for company.

And, of course, the couple dozen souls left in his chest.

But here he is. 

Here he always is.

Chas is one of John’s only friends, and John wants Chas to be happy.

He wants Chas to be happy with him, though.

Letting out a breath, Chas asks, “What do you want, John?”

_ To be here, _ John thinks.  _ To see for myself that a different soul moved on this time. To die first. _

_ You. _

He doesn’t say any of that as he forces himself to finish walking over to the tub. Chas tracks him with his eyes, neither wary nor curious, simply watching John’s progress. Waiting to see what John is going to do.

There’s a strange sort of quiet Chas tends to inspire in him. John alternately hates it and wants to wrap it around himself. But the siren song of finally having some bit of peace unfailingly leads him closer, urging him to sink into Chas until there's but quiet.

He knows better, but there’s nothing John wants more.

When he sits on the rim of the tub, Chas raises one brow at him, silently questioning.

John shrugs- he isn’t sure what he’s doing either- and a moment later, because he can, he touches Chas’ shoulder.

It feels as solid as it looks. John can’t detect any signs of the damage that was there only hours earlier as he runs his fingers over it and down to Chas’ chest. Chas endures it without complaint. He doesn’t even wince when John digs in with his fingers, testing the depth of Chas’ healing.

“You're better now?” John asks. It’s a pointless question, and he regrets asking as soon as it's slipped out.

Chas doesn’t roll his eyes, though. He doesn't point out that he shouldn't be better, that he should be dead and done with all this. That John is the last person who ought to be sniffing around him looking for comfort.  He just nods. “Never leaves a mark, whether I die or not.”

“And you’re all right with that?” John presses. “Getting hurt like you do and having nothing to show for it?”

Chas frowns. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“No?”

“No,” Chas confirms. “You and Zed are alive. That kid and his friends are alive. The demon can’t hurt anyone anymore.” The water sloshes as he lifts a hand out of the water and lays it over the hand John still has pressed to Chas’ flesh. “Sometimes it’s the scars we don’t have that matter more.”

John means to reply. He’s got something dismissive ready and waiting, but he can’t bring himself to say it. He cant make himself say anything at all. He just looks at the way Chas’ hand fits around his.

The Rising Darkness is out there, turning the world to blight, but Chas isn’t acting like this is the end of the world. John has seen Chas when he’s panicked, and this isn’t it. Panic makes Chas snappy and impatient, and if it gets bad enough, impulsive.

So he chases a possessed child into the street and gets turned into a bloody panini by cars.

So he tries to kill a mage, then kills himself before grief can do it.

So he grabs a demon with his bare hands because they were all he had.

Chas isn't any panicking now. He’s quietly soaking in the tub, his eyes heavy-lidded and his mouth soft. He’s still holding John’s hand, and his hold is gentle, his fingers twined easily around John’s.

It feels right for John to kiss him.

As John leans in, he hears the water slosh, telling him that Chas is moving, and that’s the last thing that matters before he feels Chas’ lips on his.

It’s a soft kiss, not the sort John generally goes for when he’s trying to start something, but it still feels good. So he goes for a second. And a third. And a fourth. Each one lasting a little bit longer, each one getting a little bit harder…

Chas lets out a sigh when they part, his eyes still shut, and John gives into the urge to cup Chas’ cheek with his free hand.

There are fitter blokes out there. Smarter ones and kinder ones, too. Blokes that thought higher of John than Chas does and blokes that don’t have the sort of baggage Chas comes with. John’s shagged a number of them. He’s even had one or two more than once.

He left them all behind in the end, though, and he’s never wished he hadn’t.

Chas leans in for another kiss, but this time, it’s an open mouthed kiss, and he touches his tongue to John’s.

John hears the needy noise he makes. It makes his face heat, but he doesn’t bother pretending he didn’t make it. He obviously did, and Chas is only kissing him harder.

So he lets himself make the noise a second time.

He  _ feels _ needy, prickly and overheated and humming with excess energy, his body hyperaware of how close he is to Chas and all the ways Chas knows to make him come apart. It remembers how well they fit together in the past, and unlike John’s mind, which has a wonderfully fuzzy concept of time, his skin seems to have kept track of all the minutes between now and the last time Chas was his.

John’s body knows what John himself pretends he doesn’t. 

He’s just as desperate for Chas now as he was when they met, and the fantasies he’s built suddenly have the weight of possibility behind them.

He’s got Chas’ tongue in his mouth, and John spent years thinking about that.

Who’s to say it has to stop there?

He could have Chas’ head on his pillow. Chas’ clothes mixed with his on the floor. Chas’ name tied to his. Chas filling up his bed. Chas making it their bed.

Chas’ come painted across John’s skin.

A shiver runs down his spine at the thought, and John has to get things moving.

Chas makes a soft, confused sound when John reclaims his hands, but John shushes him before he can get the wrong idea.

“I only need ‘em for bit,” he murmurs against Chas’ lips. “‘M not going anywhere without you.”

That’s got the potential to bite John on the arse later, but for now, the words keep Chas where he is, which is good enough. In return, John happily lets Chas tilt his head for more kisses, despite how much harder they make focusing on undressing.

He manages, though, yanking his shirt off the second its unbuttoned so he can move onto his trousers.

Chas holds his head steady through it, kissing him softly as John awkwardly contorts himself, trying to strip without breaking the kiss.

It takes a hell of a lot of work, and he’s more out of breath from it than he ought to be, but John manages to strip down without having to stop kissing Chas. 

The moment he finishes, Chas says, “Come here.”

His voice is a commanding rumble, the only warning John gets before Chas is grabbing him and pulling him into the tub.

Water sloshes over the sides and onto the floor, but Chas doesn’t so much as bat an eye. He’s too busy tugging John into place.

“You’ve really got me kneeling in here, eh?” John asks. He’s kneeling astride Chas’ hips, his arse planted on Chas’ lap. 

Rolling his eyes, Chas uses one hand to guide John’s head in for hard kiss. The other dips into the water and closes around John’s cock.

John moans.

This isn’t the first time he and Chas have had sex.

It’s been a while, though, and the years between now and then have changed them both.

Somehow, John thinks as Chas sets an easy rhythm with his hand, Chas has only gotten more attractive over the years. He’s lost the awkwardness he had when he was younger. He used to radiate unease, an unfortunate consequence of being a timid lad being trapped in a body ten sizes too big, but somewhere along the line, without mentioning it, he grew into himself. He’s more comfortable now than anyone John knows.

It’s an unbelievably appealing quality, right up there with his big hands and bright eyes, and John wonders how he didn’t see the change as it happened. He’s always been drawn to Chas; even when Chas was young and self-conscious, John couldn’t seem to look away.

He knows he should touch Chas back. He wants to touch Chas back. But all he can seem to do is move his tongue against Chas’ and cling to Chas’ shoulders.

Chas keeps jerking John slowly, the slow pace at odds with the desperate edge to his kisses. If he’s bothered by John not reciprocating, he’s doing a pisspoor job of showing it.

The last time they fucked, Chas didn’t go any kind of slow. It was late at night, sometime during the blur of time after Newcastle. He’d been desperate to feel Chas, to feel anything other than the yawning abyss in his chest but especially to feel something that felt like living, and Chas, in that uncanny way of his, had thought to run his hands over John’s body. It wasn’t a tickle or a tease; his touch was hard as he dragged his hands over John’s body and held him down.

John felt it for days after.

He wants this time to last even longer.

He’s been craving Chas for years, since John went for a drink with that bloke whose name John doesn’t remember at that overpriced Manhattan wine bar instead of meeting Chas at their favorite grungy dive and found out the next day that Chas hadn’t tracked him down because Chas gave a beautiful woman named Renee his number- and a bit more than that, from Chas’ red face- and didn’t come find John because he’d figured John had been out chasing tail.

He was right, of course. And they weren’t in a relationship- not the type that came with guarantees or a future, anyway. He didn’t owe John anything. Not a warning or a question, let alone fidelity.

John never tried to like Renee, and Renee never tried to like John.

That put Chas in the middle, confused and trying to make things work between them, never understanding why two people he liked so much couldn't get on. John considered telling him it was pointless, but there’s no good way of telling a man that his girlfriend- his wife- and his best mate don’t want to be friends because they both know the other doesn’t want to share him.

In the end, Renee gave up, and Chas is all John’s again.

John shouldn't feel proud of himself for outlasting her, but he does.

Chas closes his hand around John’s wrist, startling him.

“Where are you?” he asks.

John smiles. “‘M right here, mate. Can’t you tell?”

He rolls his hips, sliding his cock through the circle of Chas’ fingers.

Chas looks at him sharply for a moment longer, then shakes his head. “Come here, then.”

He pulls John closer, snaking an arm around him so John ends up pressed flat against Chas’ chest with one of Chas’ big hands cupping his arse. Chas’ grip is tight, and John just knows he’s going to have five bruises shaped like Chas’ fingertips tomorrow. 

Reaching back with one hand, he lays it over Chas’, encouraging him.

Chas’ grip tightens, just like John wanted, and John moans.

The sound tips up into a question when Chas opens his other hand, releasing John’s dick. 

Chas rumbles a laugh, and before John can object, Chas is shifting and lining his cock up with John’s. 

All complaints leave John’s mind. Time dulled his memory of just how big Chas is, and feeling it against his makes John clench his hands. He wants Chas to fuck him, wants to walk funny for a week from it, wants to feel Chas come on his skin and mark him.

He wants Chas to want him like he wants Chas.

Tilting his head for a kiss, John swallows the urge to ask.

Chas is quick to kiss John, his hand warm and wet from the water as he brushes John’s cheek and pushes his hand through John’s hair.

John fits a hand to the side of Chas’ face, his thumb stroking between smooth skin and prickly beard, and shivers at the memory of the way his arse would burn from Chas rubbing his face on it as he fingered John open. John has always been partial to the beard, even when he wasn’t getting to feel it, and he’s glad Chas has kept it despite the partners who’ve been less enthusiastic about it.

Reaching into the water between their bodies, John finds Chas’ cock and takes it in his hand. Chas groans, his hands tightening their hold, and John knows the two of them aren’t going to make it out of the tub.

That’s fine. So long as this isn’t all John’s going to get for another ten years, that’s fine.

Good ole Chas, he asks so John doesn’t have to.

“You aren’t going to run off after this, are you?” He’s the only person who wants more of John. The only one who worries about John not coming back to him. “I’m too old for the empty bed thing, John.”

He said he was “too old for the empty bed thing” when he was eighteen, too, but John doesn’t point that out.

“Maybe I don’t like the empty bed feeling either,” John replies. 

Chas snorts. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” John asks, knowing full well what it means.

Chas sighs. “God help me.”

He kisses John before John can say anything about that particular invocation. It’s softer than before, but it gets harder when John gives Chas’ cock a lazy pump. 

“Like that, do you?” John asks, doing it again before Chas can answer.

The noise Chas makes could easily mean “fuck you” or “do that again”. John suspects it probably means both.

“I think you do,” he says, tightening his grip. “And I think you’ve been on your own for too long, if you’re this worked up already.”

Chas doesn’t bother telling him off. He just wraps his hand around John’s dick.

It isn’t quite a frenzy, but John definitely isn’t trying to take his time. Neither is Chas. He knows the fastest ways to get John going, and he isn’t pretending he doesn’t.

The fact that he remembers how much John likes a bit of teeth on his neck shouldn’t feel as significant as it does.

John tries to give as good as he’s getting, but he knows he isn’t. Chas has a simple goal, and he knows the best way to get it. John, who has a list of things he wants to do to Chas that’s as long as his arm, has too many wants and not enough spare thoughts to know how to get them. 

So it’s Chas who’s doing the neck kissing and making even more water slosh over the side of the tub as he roughly strokes John closer to the edge.

John tries to tell Chas to forget about his neck and kiss him properly, but he’s too close for talking. All he can do is let the pathetic sounds in the back of his throat escape and hope Chas understands what he wants.

Chas kisses the corner of John’s mouth.

“You’re almost there, John,” he says, his voice low and rumbling through John’s chest. “You’re so close. I’ll give you a better kiss if you come.”

John whines, abandoning the pretense of helping Chas get off in favor of bracing both hands on Chas’ shoulders.

“I hear you,” Chas murmurs, his voice soft and rumbling through John like it has in hundreds of fantasies. “I know you’re close. What’s it gonna take for you to come, John? What do you need?”

John doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything.

But Chas does. The hand on John’s arse shifts, and before John can think to miss it, Chas’ fingers are tracing across his skin, moving to press behind John’s balls.

John comes like that, splayed across Chas’ lap, fingers digging into Chas’ skin, gasping for breath.

By the time he remembers how to breathe, Chas has let settled his hands on John’s hips.

There’s a smirk curving his lips, but considering he’s doing that because he got John off, John is inclined to let him. Besides, it’s a good look for Chas. He’s always worrying, always getting hurt.

It’s good to see him happy.

John hasn’t quite caught his breath when he cranes his neck for another kiss.

There are countless things John can’t say. Not now, maybe not ever. Chas deserves a better love than John can give him. He deserves sweet nothings and pet names and a long, quiet life. 

He’ll get none of that with John.

John does love him, though. For all the good it will do either of them, John loves Chas.

Wrapping his fingers around Chas’ cock, he swallows Chas’ groan.

“Let me,” he says.

He isn’t sure what he means by that.

_ Let me do this. _

_ Let me keep you. _

_ Let me be enough. _

All of it, maybe. Or maybe none.

It doesn’t matter. The water is growing cold, and Chas’ kisses are getting sloppier as John gets him closer.

John could draw things out, but he doesn’t. He wants to wash the dirty water off and go to bed, ideally in the same place as Chas. As much as he appreciates a good, long fuck, he’d really like Chas to finish sooner than later.

So he cheats a little- but only because Chas did.

It’s a little known fact that Chas has sensitive nipples. He isn’t very fond of it- he’s always complaining about them- but John is. Getting Chas to squirm is damn near impossible- unless you’ve got him by the nipple.

“John!” he hisses, biting it out like it hurts.

John tilts his head. “Something the matter, mate?”

Chas narrows his eyes, but John ducks his head, runs his tongue over Chas’ nipple, and that’s it.

Chas’ eyes fall shut, and he comes with a sound John hasn’t heard in far too long.

John pulls back and watches him sharply, tracing the way Chas’ face shifts when he comes now and tucking away his memories of younger Chas’ expression. This is his Chas. John doesn’t need any others.

He touches his fingertips to Chas’ face. Chas doesn’t open his eyes, but he tilts his head into the touch.

John’s heartbeat, which had slowed down, kicks up. 

He never had a chance. Chas is big and warm and made for devotion. He laid his heart at John’s feet the day they met, and he isn’t picking it back up, despite all the dirt John kicks up. 

There was never any way that a man as greedy as John could walk away.

John goes for a soft kiss, but Chas opens for him, and John finds himself drawn in deeper. He’s always taking from Chas, yet John is the one who keeps getting pulled in.

When they break apart, Chas opens his eyes. Mouth quirking, he says, “I’m ready for bed.”

“You don’t want to stay here with me?” John asks innocently.

Chas rolls his eyes. “I’m not sitting in this… soup any longer, no.”

And that’s all the warning John gets before Chas is shifting and hauling himself to his feet.

Water pours off him as he does, and John watches, rapt, as Chas leans over him to unplug the tub.

There really is something very earthy and compelling about Chas, John thinks. It’s not a quality John sees frequently, perhaps because Chas hoarded it all, but as John mentally traces the lines of Chas’ body and the trail of hair that tapers as it travels down Chas’ chest, he can’t say he’s sorry Chas isn't more of a leading man type. More traditionally handsome men get offers constantly, and who knows if Chas would still want John if every other person they met propositioned him?

(He would, John knows. But he knows it deep, where the thought isn’t a thought. It’s an unarticulated truth. A certainty John lives by without acknowledging it, like jumping out a window and knowing gravity will keep him from flying into space.)

Chas holds out a hand, one brow cocked, and John lets himself be pulled to his feet. His legs are unsteady after kneeling for so long, though, and Chas must know it. He doesn’t let go of John, opting instead to tug him closer, holding him close with a hand on the small of his back.

Leaning in, John closes his hands around Chas’ hips. He considers messing with Chas a little- his nipple is right there- but decides against it. He had a long day, a warm bath, and a good orgasm. Like Chas said, it’s time to go to bed. 

Past time, really.

So John’s hands don’t wander, and he doesn’t complain overmuch when Chas closes the curtain and bends to turn the water on.

He dips his head so the spray doesn’t run into his eyes when Chas switches the flow to the showerhead.

Chas washes them off, his hands strictly business even as he lays kisses here and there. 

Done, he gives John a bit of a rub down, his touch firm as he sluices the extra water off John’s body.

If he weren’t so tired, John would have a great line for this, but he is tired, and he doesn’t have anything saucy up his sleeve.

Chas does a quick version of what he did to John on himself, then tugs the curtain aside and steps out. 

John’s legs are steady enough now that he doesn’t need to lean on Chas for support, but he braces himself on Chas’ shoulder as he steps out anyway.

He watches openly as Chas towels himself off, his own towel forgotten. Just because he won’t be doing anything about it doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy the show.

It’s a shame when Chas wraps the towel around his hips, but a moment later, he’s toweling John off, which is good, too. Chas’ hands are sure as he dries John off; their years together feel like more than friendship as Chas touches him with the sort of confidence you get after touching someone for ages.

John doesn’t ask where Chas got it. The answer is obvious, and he doesn’t want to think about it.

“Not gonna clean up?” he asks instead when Chas finishes wrapping John’s towel around his hips and starts heading for the door.

The floor is covered in water, and Chas has thoughts about water on the floor. They’re not positive thoughts.

Chas doesn’t so much as pause. “I’ll clean it up tomorrow,” he says, shrugging.

They’re alone in the mill house- Corrigan is up for some regional police conference or something, and Zed wanted to see him- but John and Chas are still quiet as they make their way to Chas’ room.

Once they shut the door, they drop their towels and wordlessly climb into bed.

Usually Chas would get twitchy about wet cloth on the floor, but he’s the first to drop his towel.

He’s also the first to get into bed, flopping onto his back and letting out a deep groan as he sinks into his expensive mattress.

The hedonism might not be so hidden.

Chas doesn’t have to coax John into joining him. John is more than happy to hop up all on his own. It takes some wiggling to get comfortable- John isn’t often the small one by this much, and he isn’t usually much of a cuddler.

Chas isn’t the only one who can make exceptions.

By the time John gets things figured out and lays his head on Chas’ chest, Chas has grabbed the sheet and tugged it up over them.

“Night, Chas,” John says.

“Night, John,” Chas replies, his hand coming to rest on John’s hip. It’s warm, and despite its weight being unfamiliar, John doesn’t move it.

It could become familiar. If he let it.

If he knew how.

John rubs his cheek on Chas’ chest and lets the thought go. Chas is alive, and John is the one in his bed. That’s all John needs now. He’ll figure out tomorrow when it comes.

 

+

 

The next morning finds John still in Chas’ bed, albeit in a way Chas is more used to.

It’s been a good while since someone woke Chas up so they could blow him, and from the way John’s taking his dick, it feels like he’s trying to make up for that in one go.

Chas can’t say he minds.

He and John almost had a thing when they were younger, had some moments that felt like they could have meant something more than they did, but nothing ever materialized. Then Chas met Renee and thought he was going to settle down for good, only for John’s spell to pull him back into John’s hands.

Watching John swallow his cock, mouth stretched wide and eyes half-shut, Chas feels the old, familiar tug in his chest.

Loving John is like loving a knife. Chas has been cutting himself open on it for so long, he barely notices the blood.

He doesn’t know if John loves him back. He doesn’t even know if he wants John to; love has a habit of hurting John, and as much as Chas wants to wring John’s neck sometimes, he doesn’t want to add to John’s unhappiness.

But Chas is no martyr. He isn’t interested in suffering for a higher purpose. If John loves him, then Chas wants to feel it.

Reaching for John’s face with one hand, Chas touches John’s cheek. It’s sharp with stubble, but John closes his eyes when Chas does it. He doesn’t stop moving his head, just slows down enough to really run his tongue over the tip.

The first time John went down on him, Chas dug his fingers into his own palms so hard he drew blood from trying not to come too fast.

It doesn’t feel like he’s gotten much better as John swallows around him, taking Chas deep until there’s nothing more to take. He opens his eyes again, then, and looks up at Chas.

Distantly, Chas feels a ripple of jealousy, a faint recognition that John had to learn to do this with other people. 

He ignores it.

John is here now. He’s got his attention on Chas- his mouth full of Chas- and the hand that snakes up from Chas’ hip to lay over his chest doesn’t feel like an empty gesture. Not with John’s eyes locked on his, steady and warm.

Chas lays one of his hands over John’s, weaving their fingers together, and John’s eyes fall shut as he goes back to bobbing his head.

Closing his eyes, Chas lets his head fall back to the mattress. He tries to keep his hips as still as he can, tries to think about anything that isn’t the way his chest is too small for his heart. Anything that isn’t the reckless urge to open the lock on the wave of wishes he’s kept hidden away from John’s prying hands.

Anything that isn’t the little sound John makes as he pulls off to lick Chas’ cock.

“Sorry, mate,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. “Ordinarily I’d be happy to spend the day doing this, but this time, I-” He goes quiet for a moment, thinking hard enough that Chas can feel it. “You still keep lube in the table?”

Nodding, Chas opens his eyes so he can see what he’s doing as he reaches over and fishes the bottle out. He offers it to John, but John shakes his head.

“You do it- unless you’ve forgotten how?”

There’s more than the expected barb in that, but Chas doesn’t let John draw him in. He sits up instead and tilts his head for a kiss. 

John doesn’t try to get his fight. Just the opposite- he moves forward until he’s kneeling over Chas’ legs, just like he was last night, his knees spread wide and his cock brushing Chas’ stomach.

“You’ve never made me beg before,” he says, voice rough, when he pulls back. “You know what to do.”

Chas does know what to do. He gets the fingers of one hand wet, reaches around John’s hip, and presses the pad of one finger against him.

John moans, his hands latching onto Chas’ shoulders, and Chas kisses his cheek.

“You good?” he asks.

John nods wordlessly, his reply in the curve of his spine as he pushes back against Chas’ finger.

Chas takes his time opening John up. Memories float to the surface as he does, reminding him of different rooms and different Johns. They’re all his John, but John at twenty-one and John and thirty-six have as much in common as they have apart.

Chas has loved each one, and he’ll love any of the ones to come he lives long enough to know, but here, in this bed with this John, he doesn’t care about them.

John drops his head, resting his temple against the join of Chas’ neck. His breath rushes hard over Chas’ chest every time Chas moves his fingers just right, and his fingers dig into Chas hard enough to bruise.

Turning his head, Chas kisses John’s head.

It’s the sort of gesture John is fond of giving but shies from getting himself. This is just about the only time Chas can get away with it, and even now, he can feel John tensing like he’s about to run away.

John being John, he’s probably considering it. 

Chas pushes in sharply with his fingers, and John groans, his hips jerking and driving his cock up Chas’ belly.

“Fuck,” he breathes.

It would probably be easy to get John off like this. Chas has done it before, a few times without meaning to, and he’s sure from the way John’s pushing back against his fingers that John wouldn’t object.

Instead, Chas slowly slides his fingers free. He tilts his head to get a kiss before John can complain, keeping John preoccupied as Chas blindly attempts to find the box of condoms he keeps in his bedside table and get one out.

John doesn’t make it easy. He keeps rolling his hips, desperately rubbing off on Chas, and each time Chas tries to remind himself what he’s supposed to be doing, John lets out some kind of noise that short circuits Chas’ thoughts.

He manages to get the drawer open and is in the middle of ripping the box open when John stops kissing him and says, “If you’re looking for a condom, there’s no need. We’re both clean.”

Chas figured as much, but he knows better than to tell John that the rubber was more to remind Chas that this isn’t what it feels like. They aren’t together, and John isn’t here because it’s where he belongs. He’s here because it suits him to be; he’ll be gone and into someone else’s bed before Chas knows it.

All the more reason to make the most of this.

He abandons the box and grabs the lube instead, pouring out a bit into his palm before he wraps his hand around John’s cock.

John’s hips snap forward, meeting Chas’ stroke. Chas tries to encourage him to keep going, but John shakes his head.

“I have been waiting very patiently,” he says, eyes locked on Chas, “but could you possibly hurry up and fuck me?”

John has told Chas to do a lot of things over the years. It’s nice to be ordered to do something other than run.

It’s also nice to turn the tables and flip them over so John is the one shouting in surprise.

“Damn it, Chas,” he hisses. “A little warning next time?”

They’re having sex- well, they’re on their way to having sex. They’re worked up. “Next time” could mean anything. Or nothing.

Chas has never met another person capable of making him doubt himself like John does.

And the bastard doesn’t even mean to do it.

It takes him a bit of searching to locate the lube, but once he does, it’s only a matter of pouring some out and giving himself a few quick strokes. Then he’s lining up and pushing in.

John lets out a long, loud noise, arching his back as he does, and Chas can’t resist the urge to kiss his neck.

“Fuck me, mate,” John pants when Chas has pushed in all the way. “Can’t believe I forgot how bloody big you are.”

It’s hard to tell how much of that is complaint, how much is praise, and how much is John just talking because that’s what John does.

Chas doesn’t let himself linger on that thought; instead, he leans forward and noses at John’s cheek. It’s as much an affectionate gesture that will annoy him as it is a request for a kiss.

John does tilt his head, and Chas shifts his hips a little as their lips meet, swallowing John’s moan as he does.

He moves gently, slowly pulling out before gently pushing back in, ignoring his body screaming at him to hurry up and fuck. The John he knew years ago wouldn’t have let him get away with this; he wanted to get to the main part as fast as he could. It was always a race, a furious rush not to be left behind when John was done.

That hasn’t really changed. John still isn’t good at taking his time or hanging back, but for once, he isn’t fighting Chas.

Chas has to pull away from John’s mouth eventually, but he keeps their faces close.

Whatever has John so compliant won’t hold forever. Chas knows that. He also knows he isn’t going to get many chances to kiss John’s cheek, so he indulges himself.

John grumbles at first, but he quiets when Chas presses kisses over his cheek and up to his ear.

The grumbling shifts into a pleased hum, and Chas noses at John’s ear before he kisses the soft, ticklish skin behind it.

Reaching down with one hand, Chas cups the back of John’s thigh with one hand, then slides it up his leg to John’s knee. 

“Let me,” he says, right before he kisses John’s neck.

John does, letting Chas guide one of his legs up and over until it’s wrapped around Chas’ hip.

Chas kisses John’s cheek one last time before he straightens up, curls his free hand around John’s hip, and tries a quick snap of his hips.

The noise John lets out is one Chas spent years afraid to let himself remember.

He remembers it now. He remembers John, desperate for attention and love, finding his way to Chas. He remembers his own inexperience and shaking hands. 

He remembers the way it felt to watch John Constantine get so wrapped up in pleasure he forgot to hurt.

John’s got even more scars now.

Some of them are even visible.

He doesn’t touch them. He wants to, but John is starting to breathe hard and trying to push back, working to get the leverage to get fucked the way he’s used to.

John Constantine doesn’t do tender, never has.

Tender means going slow and getting close, two things John can’t tolerate. 

Chas squeezes John’s hip and pushes into him again, harder this time.

John moans, and Chas watches John’s hand fly to his cock.

He follows the motion with his eyes as John strokes himself.

It’s distracting, the sight of John working himself like that and not being able to just drop his head and lick the tip. Chas has to remind himself not to stop and watch.

John’s eyes are shut tight, his forehead furrowed, his mouth open as he pants. 

Chas has met countless beautiful people, but he’s never met anyone who draws his attention like John does. Chas has been helpless from the start, some part of him unable to look away from John even when he should have turned his back for good.

John has brought Chas the kind of heartbreak a man isn’t supposed to survive, yet here Chas is.

Here he remains.

John’s hip is too sharp under his palm, and his lungs are probably more soot than flesh at this point. He’s a ruthless survivor with a mean streak and a nose for human suffering.

But he makes Chas’ heart beat too fast.

Kissing him feels like there’s still good in the world.

There’s a kindness under the heartless pragmatism. Chas knows it’s there. He’s seen glimpses of it.

Something hits his arm, startling him. 

He looks down and finds John glaring at him.

“What?” Chas asks, not sure what he did to earn the stink eye.

John’s expression pinches further. “Chas.”

_ “What?” _

“I’m glad you enjoy the view, but considering you spent half an hour with your fingers up my arse earlier-”

“That wasn’t even close to half an hour.”

“-I think I’ve earned a good shag, which I know you can provide.”

There are a couple different ways Chas could respond to that, each more likely to goad John than the last, but he ends up saying nothing and simply snapping his hips.

“God!” John gasps. “Finally!”

He takes himself in hand again, and Chas has to close his eyes so he can focus on fucking John.

It isn’t difficult once he stops getting distracted by the way John looks.

Chas is probably holding him too hard, but John doesn’t complain. The torrent of profanity pouring out of him is only broken by Chas’ name and praise; if John didn’t like something, he’d make it clear.

The downside of closing his eyes means Chas is even more aware of everything else. The sound of John’s hand on his cock. The hair on John’s leg where Chas is holding it. The faint smell of lavender still hanging around from the bath. The feeling of John’s body around him as Chas drives into him. The way John’s breath is coming hard and fast, interrupting him as he rambles mindlessly. 

There’s only one sense missing, and Chas doesn’t bother pretending he doesn’t want it.

John’s cheek is sharp with stubble when Chas touches his lips to it, but it isn’t John’s cheek that Chas wants.

He doesn’t get much of a kiss when he finally gets close enough to John’s lips, but John’s making noises like he’s getting close, so Chas doesn’t fault him for that. He just tries again, dragging his tongue over John’s.

John tastes sour from sleeping, but he must have sneaked out for a smoke at some point because he tastes like cigarettes. Chas has come to like the taste, just like he’s come to like the smell. John’s the only smoker Chas has been with, and his body knows that what it means when there’s cigarettes this close.

Under him, John has started chanting Chas’ name and trying to fuck himself harder on Chas’ cock, so Chas does the kind thing and says, “Come on, John. You know what I want.”

John’s hand moves furiously for another second or two, his breath ragged until he lets out a choked shout.

Chas fucks him through it, messily kissing John’s cheek and digging his fingers into John’s hip.

When John says his name again, it’s softer, and Chas makes himself fall still. 

“Yeah, John?” he asks. 

“You gonna keep your eyes closed the whole time?”

His tone is cavalier, or a good approximation of it, but Chas knows John too well to fall for it. 

“Figured you’d want me to last more than a minute,” he says, opening his eyes.

“Yeah, well, you got me off,” John grumbles. “You lasted long enough, so you can come whenever.”

Chas opens his eyes but doesn’t let himself go back to fucking John.

“Speaking of- we probably should have used a condom,” he says, rueful. “We didn’t talk about where I should-”

“In me, you giant bastard,” John snaps. “Obviously I want it in me.”

Chas swallows hard and does as he’s told.

He fucks John more desperately than he means to, but it’s been so long, and it feels so good.

John encourages him, alternately kissing Chas and murmuring things against Chas’ lips that are too quiet for him to understand over the pounding of his heart but which make him shiver like he does know what John is saying.

When he comes, he pitches forward, barely managing to prevent himself from crashing into John facefirst.

John runs his fingers through Chas’ hair as Chas works on remembering how to breathe. He doesn’t comment on the way Chas’ body is shaking, and Chas can only be thankful.

Despite the exhaustion and lethargy tugging at him, once Chas’ breathing has evened out, he hauls himself up, carefully pulls out, and sets about cleaning them up. 

John, who’s been suspiciously quiet, says nothing as Chas wipes him down.

Once they’re clean, that leaves the sheets, but Chas doesn’t feel like getting dressed and doing laundry. Besides, John is still in bed, now with a sheet pulled up to his chin. 

Chas isn’t about to kick him out.

So he crawls back into bed, wriggling under the sheet and getting as close to John as he dares.

Silence stretches between them until John shoves himself backwards into Chas.

“You’re my best mate,” he says without turning to face Chas, “and I’d be up to my neck in shit if it weren’t for that. But I’ve always been a selfish prick, so that’s not enough for me. I want all of you for myself.”

It’s the angriest confession Chas has ever gotten.

He kisses the side of John’s head. “I have an ex and a daughter.”

“Renee gave up her rights to you when she signed those papers,” John points out. “Geraldine is a good sort. She won’t mind if I take a bit more of her father for myself.”

She probably would mind that, actually, but Chas doesn’t tell John that. Instead, he puts an arm over John’s side and tugs him that little bit closer, his palm to John’s heart. He wonders for a moment whether the organ knows how much of a beating it’s taken, if it, too, has to shoulder the weight of John’s failures.

Ducking his head, Chas brushes a kiss to the back of John’s neck.

He read somewhere that wounds never really truly heal. Bodies remember the places they’ve been damaged, and if you neglect them enough, those old wounds will come open again.

John is a master of neglecting himself, and the possibility of all John’s wounds springing open follows Chas like guilt on a Catholic. He’s gotten good at mopping up John’s blood and piecing him together over the years, but he knows it’s not enough. There are fissures in John that run deeper than Chas can reach, and if they come open- when they come open- John is going to need more than some staples and a hard fuck.

“Would you stop already?” John whines. “‘M tryin’ to sleep.”

“I’m not doing anything!”

“You’re brooding. Getting yourself worked over things before they even happen, I’d bet.”

It’s easy to forget that John knows Chas as well as Chas knows him. He’s so good at playing oblivious and dancing around subjects he doesn’t want to deal with that it takes Chas by surprise sometimes when John rattles off exactly what’s going on in Chas’ head.

Chas doesn’t have to give John the satisfaction of hearing him admit that’s what he was doing, though.

“You gonna sleep again?” he asks instead of answering.

“That’s the goal.” John arches his back, pushing his ass back against Chas. “Though I wouldn’t mind not getting my eight hours if I got something else instead.”

Chas rolls his eyes, but he can’t say he doesn’t think the same. He could go another round now, but it’s more important that John gets some more sleep. He doesn’t care for himself enough, living like the food pyramid has two parts- left for alcohol and right for cigarettes. The biggest reason Chas learned to cook was to help Renee, but being able to ensure John was at least eating well when Chas was around had its allure as well.

“Wake me up when you get up, will you? I’ll make us something to eat.”

“Not quite what I meant. Although,” John adds, voice turning sly, and Chas can already hear the smirk stretching John’s lips, “I suppose we would be working up an appetite, wouldn’t we?”

John lays a hand over the one Chas has on John’s chest. His hands are scarred and callused, casualties of John’s lifestyle, and his grip is tight, as if he still thinks Chas is going to leave.

Bussing a kiss to John’s shoulder, Chas lets it go without comment. 

He isn’t going anywhere.

Sooner or later, John will figure that out.

And until then, Chas is more than happy to lie in bed and let John hold him too tight.


End file.
